


1D Tumblr Short Prompts

by alexenglish



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Identity, Genderqueer Character, Hand Jobs, Harry in Panties, Light BDSM, Lingerie, Lipstick & Lip Gloss, Mild Humiliation, Multi, Seemingly unrequited love, Solo Niall - Freeform, Trans Harry, Zayn Leaves One Direction, hinted Niall Horan/Niall Breslin, solo zayn - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-09-15 05:46:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9221666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexenglish/pseuds/alexenglish
Summary: What it says on the tin. Check chapter titles for pairings.





	1. Zouis + SOTME

**Author's Note:**

> [1D writing tag](http://queerlyalex.tumblr.com/tagged/alexwrites1d)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> canon compliant; seemingly unrequited love

Louis watches it. Of course he does. 

Moral support, right? A morbid kind of curiosity that he’s sure most people were feeling when it was announced in the first place.

The girls sound good. He didn’t expect anything less. 

The lyrics are a generic sort of scathing. Obvious like, the kind of prattle people go on about after a break up. Arseholes, liars, weren’t even good in bed – he wonders if Perrie popped into the writer’s room and asked them to add that bit –

(He wonders if it’s true anyway, considering the shit he used to hear through hotel room walls.)

Not that it matters.

They look like they’re having fun, that’s the important part. Smiles on their faces, high energy. They seem happy. 

 _you didn’t tell him_ , he texts, after he’s watched the performance two more times and memorized the way Perrie throws back her head and laughs at the end.

 _don’t have his number, love_ , she replies. 

Louis doesn’t respond, too busy wishing he could say the same. He’s still got a number saved with a picture of the two of them slumped on the couch together – stoned as shit and lookin’ happy as shit.

(But it’s from February of last year, and every time he looks at it, Louis wonders how miserable Zayn was, if the way they got on was all for show. He can’t really bear to think of that, so he tries not to think about it at all.)

Hell, Louis doesn’t even know if it’s the right number. Just knows he can’t bring himself to delete it. 

Louis never thought of himself as a glutton for punishment, but he does this – he takes all his memories and lies them out like an accordion and can’t stop analyzing them. The when and the where and the what he missed and how he could be so stupid and _why didn’t he stay_  –

(Even though he knows why. He knows why, and he knows he’s too stubborn and selfish to admit that he _understands_. It’s easier to be angry. He’s tired of it being so fucking painful.)

He knows he’s not the only one, but he knows the others don’t feel it like he does, because the others didn’t feel the same way as he does. Not about Zayn.

Because Louis loves Zayn in ways that no one else does. Ways that _hurt_. Louis loves Zayn so much that it puts an ache in his stomach to think about, love balled up in a fist behind his rib cage, sitting heavy and strange. 

(It used to be in the tips of his fingers, urging him to _touch_. In his gaze, unable to look away, eyes so fond it was embarrassing to see in pictures. In the corners of his mouth, pulling his lips into a smile that was too wide and too sincere and too trans-fucking-parent.)

They talked about it once, after… everything. Louis and Perrie. When they were a little drunk, and a little high, and a little too sad to be around anyone else. 

He said, “I love him,” and choked on it, taking another shot of vodka like it could burn the taste of the admission out of his mouth. 

She said, “I know,” and didn’t sound like she hated him for it.

Louis still wonders how much she knows. 

If she knows how he used to lie on top of Zayn just to feel him breathe. How he used to slip his fingers under the hem of Zayn’s shirt just to touch his skin. How he used to look at Zayn in profile and think about the pink of his lips, the dark of his lashes, the high-rise of his cheekbones, and _throb_  with want. How he used to write songs about love to the trembling staccato of Zayn’s heartbeat under the palm of his hand when he hugged Zayn from behind. 

He wonders if she knows that right before Zayn left, Louis backed Zayn up against the wall and pressed his forehead to Zayn’s shoulder and shook because he wanted to kiss Zayn, but he was too fucking afraid to.

How Zayn ran his hands over the wings of Louis’ back and said, “I know,” like he was breathing out smoke and he _knew_. 

Louis isn’t proud of it. How he feels about Zayn. How it isn’t even _past tense_. How’s it’s still present and real and inescapable. And how he doesn’t even _care_  that it hurts this much, because it’s Zayn. 

Because it’s always been Zayn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reblog on tumblr](http://queerlyalex.tumblr.com/post/152013986627/idk-shout-out-to-my-ex-happened-and-then-my-brain)


	2. Zouis + Drama Nerds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "these violent delights will have violent ends and in their triumph die"

Louis hasn’t seen Zayn all day, and it’s probably for the best. He feels like he’s been on edge since he woke up this morning, and it’s stupid, it really is. Zayn’s his _mate_. It’s honestly not a big deal. This isn’t a big deal and – okay, maybe it is, but he doesn’t want to examine why it’s a big deal, just wants it to _not_ be a big deal –

“Have you seen Zayn?” Harry asks, and Louis nearly jumps out of his skin, shoulder hitting the wall to his left. The people around them in the hall pay no mind, just keep moving towards the doors as the final bell chimes.

“No, I haven’t,” Louis says, probably too sharply, even for him. “I’m waiting for him, aren’t I? At our customary meeting place. Where we meet after school.”

“Alright,” Harry says slowly, blinking at him. “No need to be testy. Niall was wondering.”

“Why?” Louis asks, unable to help himself. He sounds defensive, he knows he does. There’s no reason to be, and yet here he is –

“No idea,” Harry says, shrugging. The suspicious look vanishes into a full smile with dimples, looking somewhere over Louis’ shoulder – there’s a prickle at the back of Louis’ neck that he’s probably imagining, but he knows that – yup –

The door behind Harry reflects Zayn and Niall coming up behind him perfectly. Zayn’s arm slung around Niall. Their uniforms have that end-of-the-day rumpled look. For some reason, Niall’s tie is knotted around his head. 

“Lads!” he says, whirling, all bright and not at all forced sounding. Harry’s elbow in his ribs contradicts that a bit, but he’s trying, okay? Louis is _trying_. 

“Louis!” Niall says, throwing his hands up, knocking Zayn’s off so he can embrace Louis properly, crushing him in a hug. 

“Are you high, mate?” Louis asks, sniffing at the blonde hair curling around Niall’s ears. He doesn’t smell like anything. Niall giggles and pulls away, shaking his head. 

“Nah, just happy about the play,” he says, slinging an arm around Harry’s shoulder, laid right over Zayn’s arm where he’s done the same on Harry’s other side. “Almost over, innit?”

“Yeah, almost over,” Zayn says softly, and Louis can’t help looking at him – the way Zayn’s face goes shy, the sweep of his eyelashes as he looks away without making eye contact with Louis. 

There’s a beat and then Harry shrugs the two of them off with a long, drawn out, “okay.” Niall giggles again and they all turn to march towards the doors and out to the courtyard. 

It’s a gloomy day, clouds fat overhead, smell of rain in the air. A bit too fitting for Louis’ mood, if he’s being honest. He’d like some sunshine to chase away the tension.

It’s even more obvious when they pair off. Niall and Harry towards the dining halls and Zayn floating over the Louis’ side – not too close, like he’s unsure. Harry’s gaze darts between them like he’s trying to figure it out and nope, nope –

Louis grabs Zayn around the shoulders and tugs him in, flipping Harry and Niall off for the hell of it before he tugs Zayn in the opposite direction. Towards the dorms. 

“Yours, or mine?” Louis asks, voice all falsely bright like before. Louis would smack himself if he could get away with it, he sounds like an idiot. 

“Whichever,” Zayn says, marble-mouthed and low. Louis frowns at him, but leads him up to the dorm he shares with Niall since it’s closer. Zayn unlocks it slowly and pushes the door open, tilting his head to indicate Louis go in first. 

It feels ominous when Zayn shuts the door behind them. 

“So,” Louis says, turning to face Zayn, startling when he realizes Zayn is so _close_. Louis laughs nervously. “Christ.”

“Soz,” Zayn says, blank faced as he steps back. Louis’ hand darts out to steady him before he even thinks about it.

“This is bloody awkward, innit?” Louis asks, with a laugh. It sounds forced. 

“Yeah, a bit,” Zayn says, unhappy twist to his mouth. “We don’t have to –”

“No,” Louis says, too loud. He feels panic fluttering up his throat, a blush spreading to his cheeks. “We should, I mean. It’s good to –”

“Yeah. I mean… yeah?” Zayn says. He’s got that infuriatingly shy look on his face again and Louis wants to stomp his foot and demand that things stop being so tense, but he knows it’s his fault as much as anything.

“It’s not like it’s weird, right?” Louis asks, feeling jittery. Zayn’s staring at him, so he plows on. “It was usually two blokes in these scenes for a long time anyway. That’s like, theater history, innit? It’s not weird.”

“Does this make you uncomfortable?” Zayn asks, face going sharp like he’s two seconds from getting angry and Louis mentally backtracks to figure out where he put his foot in his mouth.

Oh.

“No, god no,” Louis says, hands clenching at his side, and right – they haven’t really had that conversation, but he’s not – “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Zayn doesn’t say anything. All he does is stare.

“I can’t kiss you for the first time in front of other people,” Louis blurts out quickly. Then he winces. Zayn finally blinks, face going slack in surprise.

“Okay,” Zayn says, something that looks like resolve flashing across his face before he steps forward, shoulders squared. For some reason that makes Louis’ face flush even harder. “Let’s do the lines, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, with a sharp nod, trying to ignore the violent tumble of his stomach. It’s fine. It’ll be fine –

“From ‘if I profane’?” Zayn asks, lifting his hand. And right, they talked about this. Doing it like Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes did, the way they teased each other. Young and deeply infatuated from the get-go, and Louis thinks he can relate, a bit –

Louis lays his palm against Zayn’s and takes a deep breath, settling into that place where he’s Juliet, in love with Romeo, memorized lines at the ready. Zayn’s hand feels so large against his, warm and steady, and Louis nods for them to start.

“If I profane with my unworthiest hand,” Zayn says, pressing his hand against Louis’, sounding tentative and shy. Zayn’s Romeo is a bit shy. Louis likes it. Their fingers tangle as Zayn moves forward. “This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.”

Louis whirls away as Zayn steps in for a kiss, letting their mouths miss, picking up his lines. 

“Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this.” Louis smiles and drifts closer, looking up at Zayn from under his lashes. The tension is so thick, it’s nearly suffocating. “For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.”

Their palms press together, steady, and Louis feels small as Zayn smiles down at him. There’s a rosy hue to Zayn’s cheeks, realization making Louis’ heart kick in his chest. He nearly misses Zayn’s line, his pulse is buzzing so loudly in his ears.

“Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?“ Zayn asks, teasingly. He drops his hand and cups Louis’ cheek. Louis’ eyes snap wide, surprised, lines getting lost in the way Zayn is staring at him. 

“A-ay, pilgrim, lips that they – that they must use in prayer,” Louis says, voice a rough whisper as he feels Zayn’s thumb trace his chin. 

“O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do.” Zayn’s thumb drags on Louis’ bottom lip and Louis stops breathing. “They pray; grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.”

“Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake,” Louis recites dutifully, but he’s too focused on the way Zayn’s eyes are flicking between Louis’ mouth and eyes like a question. Louis’ tongue darts out nervously, brushing the tip of Zayn’s thumb, and Louis _sees_  Zayn’s eyes go so much darker. 

“Then move not, while my prayer’s effect I take,” Zayn says, too quickly, before he’s pulling Louis in and kissing him, both hands coming up to frame Louis’ face and –

This kiss is supposed to be a short one, taken in the moment, before they move on, but Zayn’s hands are holding Louis’ face steady, tongue sweeping out. Louis’ jaw goes soft as Zayn licks into his mouth, whining at the back of his throat. 

His hands clenching the front of Zayn’s jacket, pulling him in closer, until they’re pressed together from hips to chest, knees knocking as they sway with the force of the kiss. It feels frantic, and Louis really can’t breathe, can’t even think about breathing with the gasping sort of noises Zayn is letting out and god, what the fuck, what –

They break away, still so close, panting into each other’s mouths. Zayn’s lips are red and bruised, and Louis figures his are too with the way they’re buzzing. 

“It’s probably a good thing we didn’t do that at rehearsal,” Zayn says, roughly, and Louis bursts out laughing –

“Oh, what the fuck,” he giggles, before pulling Zayn in again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reblog on tumblr](http://queerlyalex.tumblr.com/post/155255482232/zouis-these-violent-delights-will-have-violent)


	3. Zouis + Breakfast In Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: having breakfast in bed at 4 pm?; canon compliant angst; nsfw

They’re doing this a lot more lately, using their day off to sleep in until… the clock says half three, oh good. A whole day gone because they stayed up all night smoking and playing video games and listening to music on Zayn’s phone while they picked apart the melodies, hands playing piano in the air above their heads while they giggled through their high.  

It feels too early to be up, somehow, and Louis wants to roll over and bury his face in between Zayn’s shoulder blades again, but he can feel that Zayn’s awake by the way he’s lying still under Louis’ arm and – 

It doesn’t hurt, not really. Zayn has more boundaries than he used to, is all. There have been moments when Louis can feel it, the way Zayn’s muscles go tense like he wants to shrug Louis off, like he has to remind himself to relax into it.  

He’s been pushing Louis away, hasn’t he? As subtly as Zayn can, which isn’t very subtle at all. Louis doesn’t think things have been _bad_ , especially not between them. If anything, they’ve gotten… well, ‘ _closer_ ’ is a word for it, that’s for sure. 

It started with a drunken kiss after they went out one night. Louis hadn’t even realized he’d wanted to kiss Zayn so badly until it was happening, and then it didn’t feel like he’d ever be able to stop – Zayn’s hands sliding through his hair and pulling until Louis was gasping into his mouth, and Zayn smirking at him sideways, infuriatingly beautiful. Louis’ brain didn’t even question it when Louis thought: _We’re doing this_. 

Two conversations with Eleanor later, and Louis was pinning Zayn to the back of the hotel room door, swallowing him down, absolutely gagging for the feeling of Zayn at the back of his throat and his fingers in Louis’ hair again.

Yeah, ‘closer’ is definitely the word Louis would use. But, he still feels it. Feels the space between them widening even as they fuck more. 

Sometimes, Louis sees it even when he doesn’t want to; the way Zayn stares at Louis like he can’t quite figure Louis out, or figure out what it means. The way he looks sad when he doesn’t think Louis’s watching. 

Sometimes he feels it in the way Zayn’s nails and heels dig in, the way he gets frantic and needs it harder – until he’s practically sobbing. Louis feels like there’s a wild thing in his chest then, when he’s giving it to Zayn until they’re both broken apart and barely breathing. 

It’s hard loving someone like this, with everything you’ve got, not knowing what’s going to happen next.

But Zayn’s relaxing in the next breath, hand coming up to tighten around Louis’ , and Louis slots in behind him, tangling their legs together, knees kissing the backs of Zayn’s. He bites at the skin between Zayn’s shoulders and feels Zayn arch back against him. 

“Breakfast in bed?” Louis asks, voice rough from disuse, and the way he deep-throated Zayn last night while early 2000′s Usher played in the background.

“That means calling room service, bro,” Zayn groans. He keeps his hand over Louis’ and slides it down – down the smooth plane of his stomach, cupping Louis’ hand over his cock, thick and hot under the soft material of his joggers. “I have another idea, yeah?”

“Alright then,” Louis says, stomach going warm and satisfied, even as he tries to sound put out. He presses his teeth between Zayn’s shoulder blades again, to hear the noise Zayn makes – breathy and low. “You owe me food later, though.”

“Mm, deal,” Zayn says, shoving down his trousers as Louis reaches for his cock. They’re like a well-oiled machine at this point – Zayn hisses and arches back as Louis grabs him, wanking him experimentally. 

“Too dry,” Louis decides, holding his hand up. Zayn makes an impatient noise and licks his palm – then licks Louis’ fingers, tongue all hot and slick, draws two into his mouth to suck on them, making Louis’ dick leap in his pants. He tugs his hand away before he starts fucking Zayn’s mouth with them. 

“Fuck off,” Louis says, as Zayn giggles at him.

He grabs Zayn’s cock again, grinding forward so Zayn can feel how hard Louis is against the curve of his ass. Zayn probably doesn’t notice, too busy getting wanked, hips stuttering forward and then back like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

Louis gets up on his elbow so he can see the fat head of Zayn’s cock poking through his fist, mouth sucking bruises along Zayn’s shoulder, hoping to leave marks. 

Zayn’s hand comes up to tangle in Louis’ hair, pulling sharply until Louis is moaning and going cross-eyed and, fuck – Louis lets go and shoves Zayn down so he’s got Zayn pinned underneath him, humping against Zayn’s thigh as he readjusts his grip on Zayn’s cock. 

Zayn’s on his back now, looking up at Louis with his mouth soft and wet, begging to be kiss. So that’s exactly what Louis does, stretches up and kisses him, tightening his hand on Zayn, wanking him as Louis sucks on his tongue. 

There’s sharp pricks of pain as Zayn digs his nails into Louis’ back, scratching down his spine to make Louis arch against him and groan loudly. 

“Fuck, Zayn,” Louis says, trying to breathe as Zayn leans up to mouth at his neck, all teeth – and that frantic feeling is under his skin again, the one that makes him want to push and push and –

Zayn knocks Louis’ hand away, flipping them again so Louis is on his back, staring at Zayn’s smug face as he ducks down and sucks Louis into his mouth – quick and hard and so surprising, Louis cries out, hand coming up to tangle in Zayn’s hair. 

If Zayn wasn’t blowing Louis, he’d probably bitch, but he’s occupied with Louis’ cock, tonguing at the head, sliding down – down as far as he can until he gags, and – Louis loves that, loves hearing Zayn take him all the way, loves the wetness at the corners of Zayn’s eyes when his gaze flickers to Louis’, watching the way Louis squirms with his dick in Zayn’s mouth. 

It doesn’t last as long as it could, especially when Zayn drags his nails over Louis’ hips and down his legs, pinching the soft skin on the inside of Louis’ thigh _hard_. Louis bucks and whimpers, fingers tightening in Zayn’s hair as he comes without warning, feeling the sting of his skin and knowing there’ll be a bruise.

Zayn slinks up his body and kissing the taste of Louis’ come into his own mouth, grabbing Louis’ hand again and directing Louis to his cock. Languidly, Louis pulls him off, letting Zayn kiss him softly and pet at his hair, hips grinding forward. 

“Come for me,” Louis says, when he finds his voice. “Zayn, please, I want to see you come.”

Zayn listens, comes with a whimper buried in Louis’ shoulder, cock jumping in Louis’ fist. They roll to their sides as Zayn drops, bodies flush together, panting hard. 

Zayn isn’t even kissing him, just pressing their cheeks together hard while Louis pets down his back, babbling absolute nonsense, telling him it’ll be okay.

Louis doesn’t even know where it’s coming from, doesn’t even know why he’s saying it, just knows that they’re both trembling for no reason. Louis’ pulse is hummingbird fast and too-hard, so hard the backs of his ribs ache with the force of it. 

“Sorry, I – sorry,” Zayn says, voice wrecked, eyes down. He won’t look at Louis, and Louis has no fucking idea what he’s apologizing for, or why, just feels like he’s riding the crest of a fucking tsunami and he can’t escape it, knows when it crashes, it’ll cause so much damage –

“It’s okay, we’re okay,” Louis says, because it’s true and it’s the only thing he can say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reblog on tumblr](http://queerlyalex.tumblr.com/post/155354104332/zouis-having-breakfast-in-bed-at-4-pm)


	4. Nouis + Pre AMAs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> canon compliant

It’s probably silly to be this upset about it – upset to the point where his hand’s gone sweaty around his phone, lungs going a bit sideways as he tries to breathe through the disappointment. It wasn’t a sure thing anyway, Niall knows that. It’s still disappointing when he hears Louis say, “I’m not coming.”

“What do you mean you aren’t coming?” Niall asks, trying to make it sound light and teasing, missing by a mile probably.  

“You know why, love,” Louis says, with a little sigh. 

“I don’t,” Niall says slowly, picking at the knees of his jeans. Oddly, he’s wearing a pair with rips in the knees. It’s been awhile. 

All his jeans used to be torn, like Liam’s and Zayn’s, and now he doesn’t wear them. Just like he doesn’t wear the silly printed button ups now that he’s not around Harry. It’s weird to think about how much of a chameleon he is around other people, adapting to them, acting like them. 

Sometimes he feels like he doesn’t know himself, wonders if he’s just bits and pieces of other people. He wonders what he’s got from Louis, then, if that’s true. 

His resentment, maybe.

“Zayn’s going to be there,” Louis says, voice going hard like it does when anyone talks about Zayn – even though Niall knows Louis’s talked to Zayn since he left. That bitterness still lingers. 

“You don’t have to talk to him,” Niall says, shrugging his shoulders even though Louis can’t see him. There’s that a low simmer of annoyance in his chest, and he doesn’t want to get angry about this, he really doesn’t, but –

Niall knew Harry wouldn’t make it, he’s avoided all events this year. Liam’s tied up, as always, but Louis is in LA and doesn’t have Freddie… And besides, he thought Louis of all people…

“Then there will be articles,” Louis says, and Niall can imagine his face when he says it, the unhappy twist of his mouth. 

“They’ll talk either way,” Niall replies, shortly. “It’s not going to be worse than them talking about how none of my band mates showed up for my performance, will it?”

It’s a little mean to say. Maybe he got Louis’ ability to say exactly the wrong thing at exactly the right time.

“Oi,” Louis says, low like a hiss, like it hurt. The satisfaction doesn’t last long. “I don’t want to field the questions –”

“Skip the red carpet,” Niall says. He’s almost sure Zayn will. Zayn’s avoided press, like Harry’s avoided events, like Liam’s avoided answering text messages this year. They’re all a predictable mess.

What he doesn’t say is: _I’ll_ be fielding questions.

“Niall, love, why are you pushing it?” Louis asks. Niall loves and hates the pet name in equal measure. Louis calls everyone ‘love’ when he’s trying to placate them, or be sweet. 

“No reason,” Niall lies. That’s easy at least. Maybe he got that from Louis. The ability to be nonchalant when he’s not feeling it. “I was just making suggestions.”

“Of course.” It’s a low hum in Louis’ throat, a dubious noise that’s barely even words. Niall’s stomach squirms. 

“You can play it for me another time, yeah?” Louis asks, the wrong side of chipper. There’s a rubber band around Niall’s lungs now, wishing Louis couldn’t read him so well. “A live performance in the Horan living room. An actual one this time, not like your birthday.”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Niall says, adapting the same tone. Emotional chameleon.

“There’s a lad,” Louis says warmly. “You’ll smash it up there.”

“Thanks, Lou.”

There’s a beat where Niall really doesn’t know what to say. Louis diverted his attention away from feeling the need to beg, and now there’s nothing. 

“Miss you terribly,” Louis finally says. 

And all Niall can say is, “You too.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reblog on tumblr](http://queerlyalex.tumblr.com/post/155276354767/nouis-what-do-you-mean-you-arent-coming)


	5. Ziall + Post AMAs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> canon compliant

He thinks about the handshake for way too long after it’s over. 

That tenth of a second touch leaves his mind racing for a long time afterwards – trying to analyze it, trying to decide if the look on Niall’s face was guarded or open or something else entirely; too difficult to tell with the rush of people going past, the way Zayn could barely focus on anything beside the warm-damp-calloused feeling of Niall’s hand in his (again; finally). 

When he blinks and it’s over, all he has is a snapshot in his mind of Niall’s face (broader than it was, more grown into; there’s stubble now, glowing with that post-performance adrenaline, mouth tight at the corners – and that’s probably for Zayn, innit? – eyes a shocking blue against the pale pink of his face and the neutral tones of his outfit), and decides to replay it over and over and over until a headache presses at his temples.

He thinks about it and knows what people will say it looks like: awkward, forced, and it might be that, but mostly just… too fleeting – in the same room and only being able to say “hi” in a transitional moment – less formal than Zayn expected, more of a gentle pressure of fingers interlocking and lingering for the tiniest moment as their eyes met. Zayn knows when he said “hey” he sounded surprised, too hard to talk around his thick tongue. His skin felt too tight, awkward and anxious.

He was preparing to ignore Niall, figured Niall would ignore him. The steady push of people being ushered back to their seats would have been the perfect excuse to walk past Zayn – keep bodies between them, pretend that there was no time – and that’s what Zayn expected because for all that they _have_  talked in the past 20 months, it’s been few and far between.

And Zayn still remembers trying to reach out in the first few (six? eight?) months and getting nothing in reply – hurt sitting under his skin like a splinter, itchy remnants bothering him to this day when he thinks about it for too long. 

It wasn’t something he expected from _Niall_  of all people, but he always did forget that Niall carried hurt like a secret tucked into his pocket. It didn’t matter until it did, internal bleeding and simmering slow-burn of emotions that didn’t disappear so much as get hidden behind a convincing smile. Always okay until he wasn’t. 

They were always similar that way, weren’t they? Even if Niall was more quiet about it.

And Zayn remembers the way Niall used to hide from what was bothering him, didn’t talk about it unless it was urgent, just climbed into couches with Zayn to press their sides together, heads leaning against shoulders, fingers sneaking under shirt hems for warm skin-on-skin reassurance. 

Zayn remembers carding his hands through Niall’s thick hair, fingers covered in product, waiting Niall out – until he talked, or until the tension leaked from his body and he left with a smile on his face.

He remembers the way Niall used to smile at him – not a polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes – but open and happy, blooming across his face like a flower opening towards the sunshine, blue of his eyes disappearing as his cheeks crinkled up. 

He remembers finding Niall in a crowd, eyes searching for bleach blonde, and meeting Niall’s gaze like Niall knew Zayn was looking for him – quick smiles, “alright babe?”; a hand curling over his shoulder with a familiar weight that steadied him when he needed it the most; pressing insecurities into the palm of Niall’s hand under table tops while their fingers were laced together, damp and anxious and not caring about that.

He doesn’t think about how that’s gone now. Doesn’t think about how Niall pushed him away, easy like magnetic repulsion, keeping Zayn at a distance without even trying. Doesn’t think about how unfair it all is, five years and decisions that they all made – leaving and ignoring and closing off and refusing to connect, and every single one of them breaking promises that they made while they were all curled up together late at night in hotel rooms.

Zayn doesn’t think about how in another universe, Niall would have been sitting next to him – Niall would have found him earlier – Niall would have said ‘fuck all’ to the push of people and thrown himself in Zayn’s lap like he used to do in green rooms, hands clasped tightly around the back of Zayn’s neck, bringing their foreheads together while he laughed in Zayn’s face, pressing a kiss to Zayn’s neck before he left. 

He doesn’t think about the ways they used to fit together, bursts of laughter and teasing smiles and arms draped around each other, fingers dancing across skin. Gentle, gentle, gentle. 

Zayn thinks about Niall’s face when they locked eyes, carefully neutral, and doesn’t stop thinking about it until he gets called on stage for his award, pushed out of his mind by the excitement, the nerves of the speech. He makes a bad joke, gives his thanks, and definitely plans to keep it on his fireplace like he says he will.

He doesn’t think about Niall in the rush of backstage, doesn’t think about Niall until later when he pulls up Twitter and they’re trending, until he looks at the video of their brief interaction and feels sadness barrel into him too quickly to guard against. 

He tries not to think about five years – five years in each other’s pockets, and this is what they have to show for it, a passing touch like strangers, like they never curled into each other, whispered secrets to each other. Like he hasn’t seen the deepest parts of Niall, the angry bits and the sad bits and the homesick bits and the bits that love as fiercely as an erupting volcano. 

He tries not to think about it, and he definitely doesn’t read the fucking tweets, and before he goes to bed there’s a message sat in his inbox.

_Just wanted to say congrats ..  It was good ta see ya._

Zayn’s glad he’s alone in the dark of his room, because his hands shake and his throat closes up as he types back. He wants to say ‘I missed you’ and ‘I wish we had more time to talk’ and ‘did you fucking see Twitter?’, but he doesn’t. 

_Thanks, you too. smashed it up there, Nialler._

When Niall texts back, _thank u. don’t b a stranger ok ?_  

It feels like a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reblog on tumblr](http://queerlyalex.tumblr.com/post/153480777247/i-was-okay-last-night-and-then-i-woke-up-emo-as)


	6. OT5 + Genderqueer Harry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> canon compliant; gender feels

Niall presumes the lump in the middle of the hotel bed is Haz, but he can never be too sure these days. It’s Harry’s room, but there’s three other people besides Niall himself that would gladly crash in Harry’s bed, wrapped in Harry’s blankets. 

Niall sits on the edge of the mattress and pokes the person burritoed in the blanket a few times before a head pops out, hair first. Definitely Haz, then. 

“Time to get up buttercup,” Niall says, burying his hand in Harry’s curls and giving a few pets in a way that makes Harry unfurl from their fetal position and stretch, baby deer legs popping out of their cocoon. 

“Don’t wanna,” they say, eyes blinking rapidly as they register the sun, groaning and rolling into Niall’s leg to hide their face.

“You can’t sleep all day,” Niall chides gently, still stroking. Harry picks up their head and pouts at him. 

“I haven’t been sleeping,” they say, like they’re offended by the insinuation. “Just lying here, thinking.”

“What are you thinking about, then?” Louis asks, coming into the room with Zayn behind him. Louis’ is already dressed in jeans and a shirt and _shoes_  even, but Zayn’s shirtless. He goes straight to Harry’s suitcase and starts rifling through it to find a top.

“Wearing clothes,” Harry says, propping himself up on his elbow. The blanket falls away, showing his bare chest. Niall’s sure there’s not much on under the rest of the blanket, if anything. 

Liam comes into the room half dressed, toweling at his hair. He takes one look at Zayn and seems to think that’s a good idea, joining him at the suitcase. 

“Why are you thinking about wearing clothes, petal?” Liam asks, pulling on the first shirt he comes across. It’s tight around his shoulders; maybe it’s Zayn’s – Louis’? Niall doesn’t know anymore.

“Because I don’t want to,” Harry says, voice getting lower. “I can’t decide…” Haz scrunches up their face. “Who I want to be.”

“Who, or how?” Louis asks, a tad bit sharp. Niall pets more, to take the edge off Harry – if there’s an edge. “Gender doesn’t change who you are, just how you look.”

“Gender sometimes changes who you are,” Zayn says, eyes steady on Louis. Louis flushes and makes a noise in his throat, shrugging. 

“Or who you _were_ ,” Louis mumbles, but Zayn chooses to ignore it, which Niall is thankful for. There’s a time and place for those kinds of discussions, but the morning of a rare day off when Haz is having a gender crisis is not that time. 

“How do you feel?” Niall asks, nudging Harry so they’ll look at him instead of watching the other two. They shrug at him, mouth twisting unhappily. 

“Dunno,” they sigh, falling back. “’M alright as long as I’m not wearing clothes –” they usually are, Niall thinks – “but once I put on clothes, then there are expectations.”

“What expectations?” Liam asks, situating himself on Harry’s other side, stroking his hand down Harry’s side. 

“How I should feel and look in clothes,” Harry says. They raise their hands towards the ceiling, spreading their fingers, looking at their rings. One hand has glittery gold nail polish on it, the other’s got matte black. It seems like a decent metaphor, all things considered. 

“Terrible expectations those are,” Louis says. He must be done having his silent, eyebrows-only conversation with Zayn. Or, they’ll figure it out later after they’ve smoked and played some FIFA.

“They _are_ ,” Harry says, vehemently, eyes squeezing shut. Their hands drop onto their chest with a heavy _thud_. 

If this was happening with Louis, Niall would just have to ask how he felt about glitter at that very moment – the answer to all gender quandaries lies somewhere along the scale between vehement dislike and unrestrained enthusiasm. 

Harry loves glitter no matter what their gender is doing, so that doesn’t help at all. Harry loves a lot of the same things no matter what their gender is doing, if Niall’s being honest. 

“Why don’t we, er,” Zayn starts pulling out clothes from Harry’s suitcase and flinging them at Niall. “Present you with some, uh, outfits, and you can see how you feel about them.”

“Like a fashion show,” Louis says flatly, less than enthused. The next skirt Zayn throws hits him in the head. “Hey – It’s our day off!”

“And we have all the time in the world,” Liam says, glaring at Louis. Louis’ mouth twists and he looks sheepish. Harry’s watching him with their big bambi eyes, and Niall knows Louis can’t resist that look.

“Fine, yeah, you’re right,” Louis says, winking at Harry. They beam, sitting up the rest of the way to see the clothes Niall’s lying out. “Just keep the blanket over your lap until we get some knickers on you, babe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reblog on tumblr](http://queerlyalex.tumblr.com/post/155266677192/genderqueer-harry-coming-out-to-the-boys-andor)


	7. Narry + Lingerie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU; lingerie; nsfw

There’s a flat, matte black clothing box on the bed when Harry gets in, thick silver ribbon wrapped around it. There’s a note on top, written on thick cream card stock. The top says _From the desk of: Niall Horan_. Then a simple: _For you_ in Niall’s ridiculous Disney princess handwriting. Harry grins.

To: Niall [19:46PM]  
_what’d you get me? x_

Harry’s tempted to look inside, but he’s eager to find out what Niall wants him to do with it, so he waits, going into the closet to undress. Shoes on the shoe rack, suit folded up for dry cleaning.

Harry’s own place is a wreck, but Niall’s tidy and Harry likes to keep it that way. It’s easier to pick up after himself when it’s for someone else. On the bed, Harry’s phone chimes.

From: Niall [19:49PM]  
_open it ! :)_

Harry chucks his phone onto the comforter and does just that, tugging the end of the ribbon impatiently. When he lifts the top, there’s gold tissue, and under that… oh.

To: Niall [19:52PM]  
_Did you buy me lingerie?_

There’s a silly swoop in Harry’s stomach as he digs under the tissue, spotting emerald green. He pulls out the top piece – a pretty under-bust corset with black detailing. The material is silky, expensive, gorgeous. Harry can barely breathe looking at it.

From: Niall [19:55PM]  
_You should wear it tonight .. I’m off in an hr_

To: Niall [19:56PM]  
_I’ll think about it xx_

Which Niall knows means _yes_. Harry just can’t really articulate himself well at the moment, still overwhelmed. He leaves his phone on the bed and goes into the giant en suite to hop in the shower.

After a few moments of deliberation he decides to take the time to shave his legs and use the apricot scrub Niall got him. It’s not a special occasion, but Niall was thoughtful, so Harry’s going to be thoughtful. It’s only fair.

By the time Harry hears the front door unlock, he’s applying lipstick, up on his tip toes to lean in close. He hears the sound of Niall moving around the bedroom and stays like that, waiting until he sees Niall in the mirror, hovering in the archway that leads to the bathroom.

“Like what you see?” Harry asks, with more confidence than he feels, arching his back, and watching as Niall looks him up and down. Harry knows what he looks like from behind – corset laced up to his mid-back, ribbon tied in a bow the best he could do. The bottoms are black and silky and tiny, showing off the curve of his bum.

There was a pair of thigh highs at the bottom of the box, silky green bow on the sides. They make his legs look a mile long. For a minute there, he wished he had a pair of heels, but he didn’t know if it’d be too much, figured he could decide on that later. 

Maybe Niall will buy him heels, if he asks nicely.

“You look amazing,” Niall says, cheeks flushed pink already, and Harry turns around, unable to keep the shy look off his face, fiddling with his curls.

“Thank you, for the…” Harry gestures down, knees knocked together. He feels too warm, nervous under Niall’s gaze.  

“You said you wanted some,” Niall says, stepping closer. Harry holds still, lets Niall look. Niall runs his hands over Harry’s arms and up his shoulders, down his exposed chest.

It’s not cold, but Harry shivers anyway. Goosebumps chase after Niall’s touch.

“Well, yeah,” Harry says, with a shrug. He didn’t expect to get anything. They were just talking about things they liked and he said lingerie, and now here they are.

“I like it a lot,” Niall says, thumb tracing Harry’s collarbone.

“Me too,” Harry says, with a grin. “Let me thank you properly, yeah?”

Niall laughs at him, all sweet and bright, and lets himself be tugged over to the bed. Harry makes him sit and drops to his knees, fingers working at Niall’s laces first.

“You worked late today,” he comments, as he pulls off Niall’s shoes, then socks, putting it all to the side. He’s been thrumming with arousal since he opened the box and saw the lingerie, and now it’s so much worse like this, knees digging into the carpet, waiting to put his mouth on Niall.

“Had to finish up some paperwork,” Niall says, absently, hand going to Harry’s curls, threading his fingers through lightly. Harry smiles up at Niall dazedly, pressing a lipstick kiss to the inside of his wrist.

“I’m glad you’re home,” Harry says, running his hands up the inseam of Niall’s trousers, big hands gripping Niall’s skinny thighs, knuckles brushing his hardening prick. 

“Me too,” Niall agrees, watching as Harry gets his belt undone, lifting his hips obediently when Harry taps his leg. “You look gorgeous, Haz.”

“You’re just saying that because I’m about to put your dick in my mouth,” Harry says, even though he knows that’s not the reason Niall’s saying it at all. Niall rolls his eyes and thrusts his hips forward to be cheeky. 

Harry doesn’t waste time, just leans forward and licks Niall’s cock from root to tip, tongue swirling around the head, getting everything slick before he swallows Niall down. 

His lips kiss the ring of his fist, leaving a deep red smudge against his fingers and the shaft of Niall’s dick. The whole thing is messy, spit smearing over his chin as he draws back and looks up at Niall through his lashes. 

Niall’s leaning back, one hand still buried in Harry’s curls, fingers tightening as he looks down at Harry. His cheeks are a hectic pink, chest rising and falling sharply as he watches Harry slide back down, forcing his throat to relax so he can take Niall deeper. 

He doesn’t even gag when Niall’s hips shift forward as his cock hits the back of Harry’s throat. Harry’s hands grip at Niall’s leg tighter, eyes going watery at the corners, but he swallows around Niall’s dick and pulls back only to come back down just as deeply. 

The discomfort is worth the way Niall’s groaning, always so loud, so quick to tell Harry he’s doing a good job, that he’s taking Niall’s cock so well. 

Harry lets him steer, lets Niall tug at his hair to pull him off and coax him back down, releasing his curls to run his thumb over Harry’s cheek and feel the bulge of his cock there. Harry moans, desperate for the way Niall praises him. 

“Gorgeous with a dick in your mouth, love,” Niall says, voice hoarse and low, and Harry’s whole body thrums with the way Niall’s hand touches his hair and face and neck so tenderly, even as he fucks his cock down Harry’s throat.

It takes long enough that Harry’s jaw starts to ache, his own dick throbbing in his knickers. He can feel where the tip’s wet with precome, making the material of his panties cling to it. 

He’s desperate to get off, hips making little aborted movements against nothing, wishing for any kind of friction. It feels like he’s been hard for forever, so when Niall finally comes – both hands on the back of Harry’s head, moaning brokenly – 

Harry doesn’t bother waiting before he pushes Niall onto the bed properly and straddles his lap. Harry’s hand dips under his waistband to grip at his cock for some relief, but Niall slaps his hand away, tugging Harry’s pants down so that his cock bounces free. 

Harry inhales sharply as Niall grips his prick tightly, hands fisting in Niall’s jacket –

“Christ, let me,” Niall giggles, sitting up and pulling Harry in by the small of his back, wanking him off in earnest. 

There’s spit and lipstick on Harry’s hands, getting on Niall’s suit. His dick’s wet, rubbing up against Niall’s button up. It’s a fucking mess, honestly, but Harry doesn’t care. He’s so far gone, he’s squirming and whining, practically sobbing as Niall works him over. He comes hard and fast, moaning Niall’s name, nails biting into Niall’s shoulders. 

“S’alright, love,” Niall says, pulling Harry in close, hand on his jaw so Niall can kiss him. It’s soft and sweet and waxy with what’s left of Harry’s lipstick. 

When they part, Niall’s mouth is smeared red. Harry licks at his lips, knowing he’s definitely worse off. He nuzzles in close, pressing kisses to Niall’s jaw.

“Was that a sufficient thank you?” he asks, biting Niall’s ear just to hear the little gasp he lets out. 

“More than,” Niall says, and pulls him down for another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reblog on tumblr](http://queerlyalex.tumblr.com/post/155426798272/narry-did-you-buy-me-lingerie)


	8. Zouiall + teasing Niall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nsfw; Zayn and Louis tease Niall about Bressie. canon compliant, underage, d/s dynamics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> based on [this interview](https://bressieniall.tumblr.com/post/158357388397/niall-talking-about-bressie-during-2011-spin).

“This is _hilarious_ ,” Louis says, keeping his voice light as he drops onto the lounge next to Niall. Niall pauses FIFA and arches a dubious eyebrow at Louis before turning it to Zayn as he sits on Niall’s other side. Louis waves his phone around.

“A riot, bro,” Zayn says, smile curving easily, eyes already dark as he watches Niall. Louis feels that bubbly, giddy feeling at the bottom of his belly just sat next to them both. 

“What is it?” Niall asks, leaning over to look. Louis tilts the screen at him, the SPIN interview is pulled up and paused around the 20 minute mark. Niall frowns. “Since when do you go looking for those?”

“I don’t,” Louis admits with a showy, put-upon sigh. “Zayner and I were talking about it, though, figured I’d see if it was posted.”

“That day was _mad_ ,” Zayn mutters, always with the small talk. “That bloody crowd. The pre-recorded bit was a mess.”

“I can’t believe you left to talk to your mum,” Louis says gamely, arching his eyebrows at Niall. 

“I texted her, couldn’t leave the call,” Niall laughs, throwing his head back. He looks between the both of them curiously. Louis wonders how long it’s going to take him to catch on. “What’s funny, then? What’s _hilarious_?”

“I’m glad you asked, Nialler,” Louis says, jerking his head at Zayn. 

Zayn giggles and gets his whole arm around Niall’s waist, yanking Niall onto his lap easily. Deceptively scrawny, that one. Niall squeaks and flails before settling back against Zayn’s chest, bright blue eyes blinking at Louis. 

The grin on Louis’ face feels sharper as he scoots closer and takes the controller from Niall, placing it on the floor of the bus. There’s already a hectic flush to Niall’s cheeks, mouth open and soft and confused.

Louis settles in between Niall’s legs and holds his phone out for them all to see. Louis meets Zayn’s eyes as Zayn hooks his chin over Niall’s shoulder – feeling the steady tension in the moment – then he presses play.

They all watch the screen, laughing when it plays the part where Louis says ‘don’t do anything stupid until the second album’, the bit where Harry’s flirting with the interviewer, and so on. It only takes a minute to get to the part where they start talking about accents. 

Louis’ stomach squirms excitedly.

“Bressie?!” Niall says in the video, expression jumping in delighted surprise.

Louis can’t keep himself from watching Niall’s face – how he goes from amused to fidgety all at once, eyes darting up Louis before he looks back down at the phone, teeth biting into his bottom lip. 

Louis grins to himself, but stays silent until they’re done talking about Bressie in the video, pausing it.

“See, funny, bro,” Zayn says, hands squeezing at Niall’s hip, hard enough to make Niall startle a bit. The red blush on Niall’s cheeks gets darker.  

“Funny?” Niall asks, with a stilted laugh. His mouth’s a bit tight at the corners. Louis’s disappointed he hasn’t caught on yet. 

“Bressie?!” Louis says, mimicking Niall in the video. It sounds mean when he says it, he knows, but it’s hard not to be. It’s hard not to be jealous when Niall lights up so damn brightly any time he talks about Niall Breslin. 

And Louis gets that, he does. Bressie’s fit, older, very Irish. Niall’s got that hero worship going on. Doesn’t stop the sharp, possessive feeling Louis gets when Niall goes off with Bressie.

Doesn’t stop Louis from wanting to tease Niall about it, either. 

The feelings might be conflicting, but the end result is the same: make Niall squirm. 

Louis stays put as Niall tries to shift in Zayn’s lap, maybe climb off, but Zayn holds on tighter, nipping at Niall’s neck. Niall’s throat jumps in surprise, hands flexing on the tops of his legs.

“The look on your face, mate,” Zayn says, hands rubbing over Niall’s sides soothingly. The touch doesn’t keep Niall from shifting around, knees squeezing together. 

Probably trying to keep them from noticing that he’s already half hard, just from being grabbed at a bit. Niall’s easy like that.

“Got all happy, didn’t he, Zayn?” Louis asks, meeting Niall’s eyes. Niall looks down quickly. Louis doesn’t want that. He knocks his knuckles under Niall’s chin, makes Niall look at him. “Just one mention of dear ol’ Bressie.”

“Lou,” Niall says, quietly. To anyone else it might be a warning, but Louis knows Niall better than that. 

“Got so excited to talk about him,” Zayn says, nuzzling at the side of Niall’s neck. Louis slides his hands over Niall’s thighs, fingers catching the bottom hem of Niall’s shorts, tracing over the wiry hair on his legs. 

Louis could slip his hand up the leg of Niall’s shorts and touch Niall’s cock if he wanted to. He doesn’t. Instead, he drops his voice low so no one else on the bus can hear him.

“Wonder if everyone else can tell how badly you’re gagging for it, babes,” Louis says. Niall’s eyes go wide, little whine sticking in his throat. “Practically started panting when she said his name.”

“Properly obsessed,” Zayn says, kissing along Niall’s shoulder as his hands slide up under Niall’s vest, up to his nipples. His fingers rub and twist. Niall bites down on his bottom lip, teeth digging in hard, hands down by his sides, grabbing at where Zayn’s thighs bracket him. 

“Think he was getting hard talking about Bressie?” Louis asks Zayn, ignoring the way Niall’s arching under Zayn’s fingers, the way his mouth is soft and wet and needy. 

He’d probably like a kiss right now. Louis keeps his hands near Niall’s knees. 

“Hiding his boner under the table,” Zayn giggles, hands sliding over Niall’s stomach, fingers catching along his waistband. Niall’s belly flexes and quivers.

“Such a slag,” Louis says, keeping his voice steady as he leans up onto his knees, cupping Niall’s prick through his shorts, getting Niall hard under his palm. A little groan escapes Niall’s throat, eyes wet and wide, staring at Louis expectantly. He keeps his hips still, though, knows better than to move right now. “Have all our attention, but it’s not good enough.”

“Too greedy,” Zayn agrees, teeth scraping Niall’s earlobe. Niall gasps out loud, finally. Zayn’s hand twists Niall’s nipple again, harder this time, making Niall’s back arch. He makes another noise, louder. 

Louis grins. He should probably tell Niall to keep it the hell down, but Louis loves hearing him. Niall makes the sweetest noises when he’s all wound up like this.

“Is that it?” Louis asks, meeting Zayn’s eyes over Niall’s shoulder, grinding the heel of his hand against Niall’s cock. “Is he greedy?”

“So greedy, bro,” Zayn says, with another laugh. “Can’t get enough.”

“What would Bressie think?” Louis asks, finally looking down at Niall. What a fucking sight – red as a strawberry, dark blue eyes hazy, shirt rucked up to his armpits, shorts riding low on his hips. “He wants to be your friend, and you’re thinking about his cock.”

Louis licks his lips and takes his hand off Niall’s prick. Niall whimpers and thrusts up, but Zayn holds him down, keeps him close, hips pressing against Niall’s back. Louis wonders if Zayn’s as painfully hard as Louis is. 

Louis slips two fingers into Niall’s mouth, watching Niall’s eyelashes flutter as he sucks, wet and tight and warm. Louis feels his dick kick in his joggers, but that’s the last thing he’s thinking about. Right now, he’s thinking about Niall on his knees for Bressie, Bressie’s cock sliding past Niall’s lips. 

“You’d love his prick in your mouth, wouldn’t you?” Zayn asks, reading Louis’ mind. Niall groans around Louis’ fingers, an affirmation. “Stretch your jaw out, gag you –”

Niall pulls off Louis’ fingers with a pop, head falling back onto Zayn’s shoulder. “Zayn,” he says, voice twisting with desperation. 

Louis takes pity and shoves his hand down Niall’s pants. Niall shouts, whole body jumping. Louis grins and presses his hand over Niall’s mouth to shut him up, meeting his eyes as he tugs on Niall’s prick.

“So wet for us, love,” Louis says, with a filthy grin. “Got you so wet thinking about Bressie, don’t we?”

Niall humps up into the circle of Louis’ fist, little whimpers muffled behind Louis’ hand. Zayn helps – shoves Niall’s shorts down around his thighs and rolls Niall’s sack in his big hand, knuckles brushing Louis’. 

They grin at each other over Niall’s shoulder, and a heavy satisfaction curls up in Louis’ gut – thrilled with Niall whining between them, being so good for them. 

“Bet you’d love him between your legs like this,” Louis says, dropping his hand from Niall’s mouth. Niall’s panting, cheeks so red it looks like he got smacked. It’s a pretty sight, if Louis’s being honest. “Tugging on your cock, calling you – what’s that he calls you?”

Niall’s eyes go wide, throat working as he swallows. 

“Nialler,” Zayn prompts, pinching the inside of Niall’s thigh so that he jerks. 

“Ch-chief,” Niall says, exhaling out heavily, slurring around his accent. “Calls me chief.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, working Niall’s cock faster. The slick, dirty slide of his hand is audible over how hard they’re all breathing. Niall’s given up trying not to moan, but he’s keeping quiet enough. “Wank you and tell you to come, callin’ you all kinds of pet names like he does.”

“Make you feel special,” Zayn says, reaching for Louis’ hips, bringing him closer, pinning Niall between them even more. His hands skirt over Louis’ sides, knuckles brushing Louis’ cock, but he doesn’t stop, keeps going until he gets his hand around the base of Niall’s prick. 

It probably shouldn’t work, both of their hands on Niall, jerking him off at the same time, but Niall’s body is bowing, stomach shaking, thighs trembling – so close to coming.

“You gunna come for us, chief?” Zayn asks quietly, lips dragging along the shell of Niall’s ear. Louis wishes Niall could see the smirk on Zayn’s face, the way his mouth curls around the words in satisfaction.

“You should come for us, love,” Louis says, tightening his grip. 

And Niall does, because he’s good like that. His dick pulses in their hands, come spitting over their knuckles. Niall whines and squirms, eyes screwed shut, lost in it.

When he’s done, Louis untangles his fingers from Zayn’s and wipes the mess on the front of Niall’s shorts. Niall doesn’t even protest, just he tips his head up expectantly when Louis leans back in, and Louis indulges him with a kiss, biting at his soft mouth, sucking on his tongue. 

Niall moans and sighs, sweet and pliant under Louis’ hands. Louis lets him go so Zayn can kiss him, watches their lips catch slow, hypnotic. 

“The idea of Bressie might get you hard,” Louis says, as they part, cupping Niall’s neck so he can feel the way Niall’s pulse flutters under the thin skin below his ear. “But we get you off. Don’t we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reblog!](http://queerlyalex.tumblr.com/post/158465446757/i-cant-stop-thinking-about-this-interview-so)


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